I Hope It's Nice Up There (A SmoshGames Fic)
by BrightNeonCombustion
Summary: Matt Sohinki did not expect this to happen. He didn't expect his entire world to come crashing down with three simple words. But it did. And now every time he closes his eyes, he just sees his face. Laserhinki (Lasercorn/Sohinki), and some Witz (Wes/Flitz) -Sorry if the summary sucks, but I didn't quite know how to describe this fic-


_**Details:**_

**Pairing:** Sohinki/Lasercorn (Laserhinki) and mentions of Wes/Flitz (Witz)

**Warnings:** Angst like _**woah***_, possible triggers, death, sweet ending?

*****_okay so i'm writing this after I finished writing the fic and... wow. Yeah, when i say angst like woah, I mean angst like WOAH_

**Also (Just in case you didn't know) The "real" names of the SG Members**

Matt Sohinki - Sohinki

Joshua Ovenshire - Jovenshire

David Moss - Lasercorn

Amra Ricketts - Flitz

Wesley Johnson - Wes

And everyone else's names are the same (Mari, Anthony, Ian)

_**ALSO:** _After writing this I realize that I use both "Matt" and "Sohinki" to refer to Sohinki (sorry if I confuse anyone - just know that they are the same person).

* * *

><p>Matt Sohinki had always considered himself lucky. Not in an arrogant or snobbish way, not like that at all. More, especially as of late, in a subtle, appreciative way. I mean, he got to play video games as a <em>job<em>. He had millions of fans and people who supported and admired him, and he got to go to work with his best friends. This realization had struck him at the most unusual time. He was sat on his couch, watching a commercial for some sort of snack play on the TV, waiting for the new episode of The Walking Dead to come back on. Then he just kind of came to a conclusion. He loved his life. It's not that his life had always been easy (especially as a young boy, where it was more the opposite than anything), and he had, like everyone, experienced difficulties and problems over the course of his existence. But it was then, sitting on his couch, watching a commercial, he realized truly how lucky he was to have been given this life.

So it came as even more of a shock when he received the news, a couple month later.

It was a normal day at the Smosh Games HQ, everyone busying themselves in something. It was quiet in the room where Sohinki and the rest of the crew worked, the only sounds being the gentle clicking of mouses or tap-tap-tapping of keyboard keys. It was a Thursday, maybe. Or perhaps a Friday. Possibly a Tuesday. Sohinki didn't remember for sure. Nobody did. All that he remembered was the tragic news that was given after lunch.

He often thought of those last moments, the moments before they'd been given the news. They'd all been so... peaceful, so... normal. So far from what they would become.

Ian had group texted the entire crew to come to the room in which they filmed Game Bang and Gametime:

_From: Ian Hecox - 1:56 PM_

_"Please come to the Game Bang room now, we need to tell you something."_

That should have been his first clue. And to some degree it was. Ian's normally funny and stupid texts, now devoid of humor and serious.

Matt (Sohinki), Joshua (Joven), Mari, Flitz, and Wes arrived at the Game Bang room, and were greeted by an unusually solemn Ian and Anthony. This was when Matt began to realize something was wrong. Anthony's eyes were red and slightly puffy, as if he'd been crying for a long time. Ian's were the same, his arm slung, comfortingly, over Anthony's shoulder, and they both were quiet as the crew began assembling into the small room, Flitz and Wes sitting on the floor, backs against the wall, while everyone else sat in a seat or stood. Silence followed as everyone took in the sight of Ian and Anthony.

Matt was confused. He'd never seen Ian like this. Anthony wasn't shy, and was a lot more open about expressing his emotions than Ian, yet even still, he'd never seen him in this state. Ian, on the other hand, tended to be rather guarded, not being scared easily, or reacting that much, even when he'd have to eat disgusting things for Game Bang. And yet here he was, here both of them were, regarding them with an expression almost like desperation, with a large tinge of sadness. From what he knew Ian was doing fine, and Anthony and Kalel were as happy as they'd ever been.

The atmosphere had changed now, into something scary, something... uncertain and sad.

Ian, although he had been looking at them for all this time, only now seemed to notice them, and seemed to snap to attention, his back straightening and his eyes coming alive again. His arm still hung over Anthony's shoulder, probably more for the other mans' benefit then his.

It was then that he, painstakingly, said the words that Matt would remember for the rest of his life, however longer it might be. The words that would haunt his dreams and plague his nightmares, the words that would burrow themselves, deep inside him, becoming as much a part of him as he himself was.

"David is dead."

.

Ian and Anthony probably said some other stuff after that. He vaguely recalled them saying he'd taken his own life. He remembered them talking, their mouths moving, opening and shutting, but he didn't remember any of the words coming out.

It's hard to hear the things around you when your mind is screaming inside your head.

It's like when you go swimming. When your head is above water you hear everything, the sound of the people and the water around you, the sound of the sky and the wind and the trees. But then you go under, and it's everything is distant and muffled. Like everything is so far away although it's right there in front of you. You can't breath or blink, so you just stay there, floating under. Drowning.

And oh how he drowned.

With every word of that short sentence he got pulled a little deeper, until...

_"David"_

Down

_"Is"_

Deeper

_"Dead"_

Unmoving.

He tried to express some sort of emotion, tried to desperately. He tried to cry like Mari and Joshua were, tried to be shocked and surprised, hand over mouth, eyes wide as saucers, like Flitz was, tried to hold his head down, not looking at anyone, desperately blinking back tears, like Wes was. But he couldn't. He just sat there, shocked, surprised, and numb.

He didn't remember how he got home that night. Maybe he walked. He probably drove, as attested to by his car in his garage. But he didn't remember any of it. He just remembered what was said, those three words that had been playing and replaying in his head all day.

He'd probably gotten his mail. White letters and Tan envelope packages lay in a scattered mess on his coffee table. He didn't remember opening them, but when he looked again, almost all of them had have their seals opened and tops ripped off. Maybe they were from his mom, or his grandma. They were probably bills. He was right, they were. All but one.

He looked down to see a tan envelope in his hands. He (probably) turned it around and began to open it, when he saw something. Reality started to rush back to Matt, shocking him, like waves of adrenaline coursing through his body. Although his eyes had been open all day, it seemed that he had not been truly seeing until this very moment. And he saw. He saw the return address on this letter he was in the process of opening.

"David Moss"

_Lasercorn._

That was when he did the first truly conscious thing he'd done all day. He opened up the envelope, letting the letter slide and fall into his lap. He unfolded the paper, and read it several times.

Not that he had to.

It was just one sentence after all.

He would've wondered how only one sentence, with only three words, could hold such strong emotion if he hadn't already experienced it earlier today. He tried, unsuccessfully to blink back his tears, holding the paper away from his face, not wanting to destroy the only thing that still had the smell of David on it left.

Written on the paper, in David's carefree, albeit slightly messy, handwriting was a single sentence. Three words.

_"Goodnight, my love."_

And a date under it.

Yesterday. The day before he'd died.

To anyone else, this would only be a mere sentence, a simple 15 letters, an expression of fondness. But to Matt, it carried so much more meaning than that. Tears, finally, streamed down his face, as he remembered that day, many months ago.

.

His car was in the shop, getting repaired, and he didn't have a ride home. He was planning on getting a cab to take him home from work today. So, he was mildly surprised and more than a little bit flustered when David had offered to drive him home. David, with his adorable smile, and eyes so full of life, having overheard him talking to Mari about his car, had bounded up to him, and, with that cute and quirky expression that only he could pull off, asked him is he wanted a ride.

What was he supposed to do? Matt had tried his best to avoid David, especially as of late, not because he didn't like him, but because, well, the opposite. Whenever he found himself around David he would go weak in the knees, and stutter whenever he'd tried to talk, finding himself distracted by every aspect of David's physique and personality. His mind would get foggy and his heart would race. He'd lose all of his inhibitions within seconds whenever he found himself close to him.

So it was with this in mind that he tried to avoid him whenever possible. Because he didn't trust himself, didn't trust himself enough to not say something stupid, as he had many times before, or say something...else. Say his feelings. But now he was trapped and, finding himself lost in his chocolate eyes and the cute way he'd slightly stick out his tongue whenever waiting for an answer to a question, he'd unwittingly agreed. After David left he'd cursed himself for being such an idiot.

But he'd also felt a feeling that he hadn't felt in a while. He felt hope. He knew it was stupid, and he'd always crush any hope he had, especially around David. He knew that David didn't, well, "swing that way." He hadn't thought he did either, well, until he met David. He knew that any feelings he had for his short-haired, adorable colleague and friend would not be requited, and tried his best to kill any hope he had before it manifested.

He tried, as always, to kill this hope, but today something happened that never had before. He lost. The hope that he'd developed stayed strong and glowing, persevering. And that scared Matt more than anything.

Eventually, the day had come to an end, everyone leaving to go out or to their respective homes or apartments. Ian left first, saying something about having to write a script for a new Smosh video. Anthony followed soon after, mumbling about having to feed his cats and get home, saying goodbye to everyone. Mari had to go to a ballet practice (she really was a wonderful dancer), and Joshua went to go shopping for food before returning home (he always went food shopping late in the day, for some reason). Wes and Flitz, as they had for a while now, left together with a single goodbye.

Matt found it kind of odd that they'd always left together, seeing as their apartments were a half hour away from each other, and that Wes and Joshua were roomates. He'd also could have sworn he'd seen some odd behavior with the two of them. Nothing big, just small stuff he'd picked up (not on purpose, but on accident, as Matt was naturally observative).

Things like smiles at each other that were not too hidden, and glances that were just a little too long. Things like how Flitz would always look at Wes's lips and then back up at his eyes whenever they talked. How Wes's face would light up whenever Flitz walked in the room, and how we would rush, excitingly, to him to show or tell him the progress of his new cosplay, or how he couldn't wait for the new superhero movie. How, when they were deep in conversation, nothing could bother them or distract them, as if they were in their own little word, with only the other person mattering to them.

The "biggest" thing he'd ever seen between them was after an episode of Grand Theft Smosh. Flitz dropped his hand to his side, as he sat in the chair, and he could have sworn he saw his and Wes's hands brush together, or hold each other. But it was only for a fraction of a second, and maybe it was a trick of the way they were seated or position.

He looked up to see Flitz and Wes leaving, the only eyes on them, as David had went to the bathroom shortly after Mari left. He, yet again, could have sworn he saw... something, something in the way that they looked at each other, full of hidden meaning, as they left.

He mentally beat himself up. This was stupid. It was _Wes_ and _Flitz _he was talking about. He was overthinking.

David came into the room a couple seconds after Wes and Flitz had gone, prompting Sohinki almost asking him is he saw them in the hallway, before quickly shutting his mouth.

"Ready to go?" said David, bending down to pick up his keys, which had fallen on the floor.

Sohinki caught himself staring and looked away quickly, his cheeks turning pink, "Yeah, sure, let's go." He shut down DOTA2 (he had finished a match and was checking his inventory), turned off his computer, and removed his gaming headset from his neck, thankful to let his skin breathe.

They went into the garage and David started his car while Matt got into the passengers seat, his small frame sinking into the soft interior of the car. He hadn't realized how tired he was today until now, ironically, when he was with the person who made him feel the most alive.

David carefully pulled out of the garage and began driving on the crowded California streets and highways. After a few remarks about their day, David and Sohinki fell into a comfortable silence, David concentration on the road, Sohinki staring out the window to the darkness dotted by so many illuminating lights that was California.

It was then that the gentle hum of the car engine, the slight rocking motion of the seat, and the presence of David, the presence that made him feel so protected, started to take a toll on him. His eyelids drooped lower and lower, his head settling into a comfortable position on the seat.

He tried to wake himself up several times to no avail. So many emotions were blended together; he exhaustion from the day, the giddiness and love he felt when he was around David, the anxiousness and longing he felt whenever he flashed him one of those precious smiles, the cold sweat that came over his body when he looked at the muscles in Davids arms tense up when he scratched his head or would reach to grab something. And so many more, so many more emotions that he couldn't even begin to put a word to label, a word besides simply _David_. All of these emotions came together, and were oddly calming. All except one, that he'd managed to hide. The fear that David would never love him.

So Matt Sohinki was in the state of delusion that one enters right before they fall asleep when you can't tell fact from fiction. And, before he closed his eyes and succumb to the tantalizing call of rest, he looked over at David.

And David was looking at him, out of the corner of his eyes, a smile of what could only be described as endearment or the smile one gets when they see a puppy, chasing it's own tail.

And before Matt shut his eyes, becoming temporarily dead to the world, he thought he heard David say something, although he could not tell if it was true or just a dream, product of imagination.

Seconds before he fell into a peaceful sleep, David had, or so he thought he'd imagines, gazed over at him, his eyes full of... something. Perhaps it was love? And whispered, with a shy smile, "Goodnight, my love."

.

The memory ended, but those words still stayed, gazing up at his from the paper.

He was sobbing now, his chest heaving, his hands pressed together, against his forehead. And in the middle of all these emotions, in the middle of all this turmoil, he began to see.

To see all the things that he had missed, all the things he'd overlooked because he was too busy trying to avoid David, too wrapped up and concerned about his own feelings, to ever see what was actually happening around him.

About all the times David had been the first to volunteer to help him, how he'd always smile when he'd looked at him. How every time he'd made a sarcastic comment about how hungry he was, he would leave the HQ, and how up an hour later with take-out for 2 and a smile as they ate together. How he'd taken Game Bang punishments for him, even when he had to run around in a ridiculous wolf costume and attempt to get people to honk at him. He'd done so much for him.

And what did he do for him? Did he ever try to make his feelings known? No.

No he didn't. He'd tried to avoid him.

Sohinki began to cry more, if that was possible.

How could he be so stupid? So blind?!

He should be the one who was dead.

He tried to stop sobbing, to compose himself and wipe his tears away. And he did. But every time he closed his eyes it was David's face he saw.

Adorable, lovable David. Chocolate brown puppy dog eyed David. The most energetic, happy person he'd ever known.

And he'd killed himself.

And so he cried. He cried and cried. He cried for himself. He cried for David. He cried for the world that was so unfair. The world that puts people on this planet one second just to take them out the next. He cried for the masks. The masks that people could put on, so they could seem so perfectly happy one second, only to take their own lives in the next. He cried for it all.

And he cried for a long time. And even after he finished crying, he would never forget.

And that is what he promised himself.

.

**3 MONTHS LATER**

It is a Wednesday. The weather was brilliant, the sun bright and shining, a cool breeze offsetting any excessive heat given off by the gleaming golden rays. The birds chirped in their trees, singing songs of spring back and forth. This light atmosphere contrasted with what was happening at the current time.

Several young adults, all in or around their late twenties, stood, dressed in all black, gathered around a tombstone. An older man with a yarmulke (pronounced yah-mah-kuh) stands at the grave, reading from a book.

A tall, dark haired young man, who was crying silently, was being comforted by a shorter, brown haired man with blue eyes and stubble. A tall man with dark black hair and glasses stood silently, next to a pretty Asian woman, carrying a bouquet of flowers, whose eyes were red and bloodshot. An interracial couple stood next to them, holding hands. A handsome African-american man with glasses, and a tall man with long brown hair stopping above his shoulders, who is blinking back tears.

They stand, observing the tombstones. One of them has been there for a little bit, the tombstone probably not over a year old, but vegetation growing over the soil. The other tombstone is freshly dug, as evidenced by the murky brown topsoil that had been recently put over it. The older man stops reading from the book and closes it. He nods.

The Asain lady lays down the flowers at the freshly dug grave. They are beautiful, a bright, vibrant orangish red, much like that of the fur of a red panda. She goes to stand back up, but hesitates, and changes her mind.

She takes a single flower out of bouquet, and delicately places it on the slightly older grave next to it.

Now the man with the dark hair and glasses begins to cry.

They all pulled a lot of strings to get him buried here. He was supposed to be buried in a Jewish cemetery, but his final wishes stated specific instructions.

The African-American man looks on, his eyes damp. He first looks at all of his friends, all around him, all hurting. Then he looks at the graves, and the flowers.

He thinks a thought that, to others, may have sounded ominous, but in reality, were meant and thought with such heartfelt passion and wistfulness and loss, that it was genuine. He knew of their struggle, their hopes and their love. As his eyes fill with tears that then overflow onto his cheeks, he comforts himself with the one happy thought that can be possibly grasped onto in this situation.

They are together at last.

.

.

.

Meanwhile, somewhere far up above, two people look down at the procession that is happening.

They are sad, sad that they have brought pain and sorrow to the ones who they care about most. They wish for them to recover, to live their lives happily, to do what they never could.

These two people sit next to each other.

Two people together, two hands, interlocked, looking down at the events below.

One of the hands is slightly rough-looking and slightly calloused, though not uninviting. These are a mans hands. This hand is interlaced with another one, also a mans hand, yet different. Fingers long, delicate, and soft-looking, considerably smaller than the ones they hold. These hands are halfway covered by the soft cotton sleeve of a DOTA2 hoodie.

And as they sat in their palace in the clouds they, at long last, smiled.

They had found each other.

And they were happy.

Because, finally, they were together.

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><p><strong>Hey Guys! ^-^ <em> IMPORTANT NEWS:<em>**

Please vote in my poll for your favorite Smosh Games ships/pairings! **The winning ship (or ships) will have fanfics written about them!**

VOTE: ~brightneoncombustion and look at the top of the profile where it says "polls" and click the "VOTE NOW" button the the upper right hand corner.


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